


Rope

by EagleofMasyaf (roelani), TheSwordKing



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, M/M, Punishment, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roelani/pseuds/EagleofMasyaf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwordKing/pseuds/TheSwordKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair catches Malik in a foul mood and get punished for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rope

Malik dipped the sharpened quill into the fresh pot of ink, carefully making sure there was no extra ink on the tip before setting it to the yellowed parchment before him. With practiced ease he drew the ruler-straight lines that were to be the outer walls of Damascus. He glanced at the aged map that he was using for reference; the recent changes stood out on the parchment vividly, fresh black ink over faded gray.

It was one of those lovely cool days before the brief winter rains rolled in. His underlings hadn’t been troublesome, the guards had been lax in the nice weather, and Altaïr had not come to distract him from his work. It was a wonderful day. Kadar had loved days like this; they’d lain in the sun and enjoyed the weather, reading or napping or just being together.

He had not planned on Malik being inside the Bureau; Altaïr had been told that the place was often empty when the days shortened and the sun was still warm, the Dai wandering out and leaving the Bureau in the care of the few novices who staffed the Jerusalem outpost. Regardless of the clemency of the weather, he had not had a nice morning; the target—a slaver whose words he was still trying to forget—had had men posted all over the city, and he had spent most of the day trying, in vain, to hunt them down.

He was exhausted, out of patience and out of energy when he finally managed the short climb up onto the latticed roof and dropped heavily inside the courtyard. He did not hesitate, this time, before moving into the inner rooms, certain to find them empty, only to find himself staring bemusedly at the Dai as the man hunched over one of his maps. He knew another fight loomed and quickly turned his gaze away. Relating that his hunt had not gone well would be... unpleasant.

"Safety and peace, Dai. I only come for a short respite."

“Your presence here shortens me of both, Altaïr.” Malik said acidly as he looked up and glared at Altaïr. “Are you –still- hunting for Talal’s men?” He sneered slightly at the thought. “Do you think this so beneath you that you can slack off?”

He glared at the man that had once been his friend, his love, and fought to keep his stomach from clenching painfully. It was more painful than was fair to have to look at Altaïr. Every time he did, he remembered something pleasant that the pain of his brother’s death or the loss of his arm had poisoned for him. It made him angry and sad.

Altaïr stifled a slight hiss of anger at the venom in the man's voice and words. He managed a nonchalant shrug, turning away from Malik completely without so much as meeting his eyes, and walked off towards the small table, pushing away the chess set with a hand. "It would all go much quicker if you would provide me with information, Malik," he answered, unbuckling the leather straps of the armour at his waist tensely.

He would not—could not—face Malik's anger directly; what he had done was inexcusable, and he was already paying the price for it, forced to fight his way through a sort of gauntlet, a test of his loyalty and abilities. Al Mualim had given him his life back, in exchange for this service; a fact that the Dai seemed quite happy, for the moment, to ignore. "As you are wont to do," Altaïr added, dumping his belts on the table with a clatter of steel and leather. "You are charged to help me in whatever task I am given. Not hinder my progress... brother."

“And you know Al Mualim wishes for you to find the information yourself. I have –already- given you the places to search; if you cannot find them that is not my fault,” he said as he carefully drew in the lines of a mosque.

“And you have no right to call me brother after what you’ve done,” Malik growled, slamming his fist on the bureau counter and glaring at Altaïr. His hand shook with anger and strangely pent up need; the man drove him to the edge of his temper and beyond. “And now you torment me by failing your assignments like the witless novice you are.”

"Your information was either wrong or purposefully misleading; I found nothing there but empty rooms!" Altaïr shot back, turning slightly to shoot Malik a reproachful look from under the edges of his hood. He found himself almost withering under the Dai's angry glare and quickly turned back, undoing the straps of his bracers with more force than was strictly necessary before slipping them off his wrists and slamming them onto the table. The chess set rattled, a few pieces falling over its surface to roll onto the tiled floor.

Altaïr ignored them, rounding on Malik, his blood rushing and throbbing loudly in his ears; the man's vicious anger was almost infectious, the words almost calculated to sting. This was what he had wanted to avoid, the reason why he was always leery of visiting the Jerusalem bureau. Every time the Dai spoke, it raised and twisted memories he could almost wish buried. "I have every right to call you brother; you are still part of our order and when I am done with this ridiculous list, I will -still- outrank you."

“Outrank me?” Malik snarled standing up his quill snapping his in grip. “You are less than dirt because of what you have done! You forfeited your right to call me brother when you betrayed the brotherhood by spitting on our creed!”

“I have still not figured out if you are willfully ignorant, a fool or a traitor!” he growled, glaring at Altaïr hatefully. “You took –everything- about our relationship and shat on it! Clearly nothing but yourself means anything to you.” He had to fight around a lump in his throat and gritted his teeth. “Do you know what de Sable and his bastards –did- to Kadar before they killed him?”

Altaïr stood his ground with some difficulty, turning to face Malik, careful to keep his face hidden under the shadows of his cowl; he had no wish for the Dai to see the frown he was certain was etched across his features. "I -betrayed- nothing! I was sent there, as were you, to retrieve the object Al Mualim wanted from the temple. The Templars were in my way. I acted as I saw fit, as I thought was necessary to complete the assignment."

He cringed, avoiding his eyes as Malik mentioned both their previous relationship—they had been close, once, as novices, before time and the disaster at Solomon's temple had driven them apart—and the last moments of his brother. Kadar also had been... close to him, though, clearly, not in the same way. He tried his hardest to ignore the sharp pang of pain that rose within him at the memories of what he had lost, of what he was losing now. "I am already paying for what I have done, Malik. Al Mualim himself has chosen this for me; I can give you nothing more. And I -tried- to return for both of you; the way back into the temple collapsed after me. There was nothing more I could have done!"

Gritting his teeth, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, Altaïr stepped forward and sent Malik a tense nod. "Tell me, then. If it will please you to drive this in deeper than it already is, tell me everything and be done with it!"

“You could have listened to me and not run after de Sable like a pig-headed fool!” There was more pain than anger in his voice at that point. “You’re not paying for what you’ve done. –I- pay for it every day, with the loss of my arm, of my brother. YOU are still alive and whole. –I- have lost everything.”

He clenched his hand and stared down at it. “They separated us, held me back while they beat him and mutilated his body. I got away because they were idiots and thought I wouldn’t be able to fight with one arm, “he gritted out, shaking. “It should have been an easy mission! It would have been if you had just listened to me. Why couldn’t you have just listened?” The last was a strangled, choked out question as he looked at Altaïr with pain-filled eyes. “The worst part is I cannot even bring myself to hate you for this, that I can still…..care for you, even after all of this."

Altaïr stared in blank shock, his fists slowly uncurling as Malik spoke, the venomous edge to his voice draining away with each pained word. He shook his head numbly, and then stared at the tiles underneath his feet for a long moment. "They... I was told your... Kadar could not block a strike to his stomach... That he had died instantly." Al Mualim had not told him the whole truth, then, perhaps in an attempt to protect Kadar's memory or to ensure Altaïr would be just repentant enough to undertake this new task without falling to pieces.

"I..." He swallowed, an uncomfortable lump caught in his throat. Malik's last admission shook him to the core, more so even than the image—which he knew would haunt him now, as it probably did Malik—of Kadar being tortured had. He took a step closer, then another, his feet taking him all the way across the small room to Malik's side, glancing down at the man's clenched fist, uncertain if Malik would lash out at him now. An apology, after all that happened, hardly seemed appropriate or enough and he could not force the words out.

He hadn't wanted to face this, to know how deeply he'd betrayed Malik's trust in him. The bureau's walls suddenly seemed too close, the light from the sun still shining in the courtyard too dim, and he had to fight not to turn tail and flee. He forced himself to stay, taking that last step closer to the man until he was standing close enough to almost feel the heat radiating from him. "I could not... If I could do it differently now..."

Malik reached out and grabbed a fistful of Altaïr’s robes, his hand shaking as he did so. “They… told me that it would only cause more… trouble if I told you," he muttered. “That it wasn’t worth distracting you from your missions just for you to know the truth.”

“Nothing we do will change it now…" he continued, twisting his hand slightly. He looked into Altaïr’s golden eyes, his grip tightening, shoved him over the counter top and reached for a coil of rope that was looped loosely under the counter. “However, there is something you can do for me.”

He doubted that Altaïr would agree but he wanted to try it. It would be… lovely if he did.

For a second, as Malik forcefully pushed him back against the hard wooden top of the bureau's desk Altaïr contemplated fighting the man off; he was bent awkwardly, flailing back against the counter, but still had the use of his legs. He could have kicked out, reached for the Dai's throat, defended himself. He was not, however, certain he could actually force himself to violence against the man. And Malik did not press his attack, releasing him as soon as he flailed back.

Altaïr's eyes darted out to his armour and bracers, just a few feet away but clearly out of reach, then focused sharply on the long coils of rope curled in the Dai's hand as he straightened up and turned back to him. Altaïr's breathing hitched and he turned his gaze swiftly back to Malik's face, his heart suddenly galloping madly in his chest. He shook his head, wide eyes going straight back to the coils of thick hemp and staying there as he gaped, desperately trying to gather his thoughts.

"Something I could... I do not... What do you intend, Malik?" This was madness; he had trusted this man with his life before, but that had been long ago, before he had, apparently, destroyed everything. Now, shuddering and uncertain, he could barely force himself to speak. "What do you... mean to do?"

“I do not think you need to worry about it just yet.” Malik said, shrugging the coil of rope on to his shoulder and hauling Altaïr off the counter and around it. He shoved Altaïr chest first over the large wooden trunk on the other side of it, then shrugged the rope off and leaned over Altaïr, pressing his chest against Altaïr’s back.

“Don’t worry; I’ve no plans of causing you lasting damage, Altaïr," he growled as he began trying to loop the rope around Altaïr’s wrist, still pressing against his back. “You may even enjoy this,” he spoke again, mouth close to Altaïr’s ear.

Altaïr scowled and opened his mouth to snarl a reply at the Dai—he was already more than worried and had a sinking feeling he knew, without being told, what Malik wanted—but the words died in his throat as Malik pulled hard against his robes. He slid off the counter gracelessly, stumbling forward a few paces, Malik's hand slapping hard against his back propelling him further until he all but collapsed onto the wooden trunk that stood behind the counter. The heat of the man leaning against him sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine, pooling in his gut and forcing a surprised groan out of him.

"Enjoy what?" he sneered, tugging his hand out of Malik's grasp just as the coil of rope slipped around his wrist. It tightened immediately and he tried to turn, the Dai's face close to his own and the weight of him pressing down limiting his movements. He bucked up against Malik as realization dawned, fighting a sudden surge of panic. "You would... never dare." Altaïr wrestled his free hand up and slammed it against the edge of the trunk, desperately trying to push himself off; he could not risk a direct fight with the Dai, not like this, exhausted and unsure of the man's intentions.

"Release me this instant, Malik. This is madness," he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to tug his wrist free.

Malik looped the rope through the sturdy handle on the end of the trunk then around Altaïr’s other wrist. “No, this is not madness.” He ground back down, pressing harder against Altaïr’s back. He tugged the rope back and wrapped it around Altaïr’s thigh just above the knee, another loop through the handle on the other end and he wrapped the rope around the other leg. Tying both ends together, he stood back and looked down at Altaïr.

“That... is a good look for you…” he mused as he pulled a heavy dagger from under the counter and slid the edge under the back of Altaïr’s robes, teasing them up so just the hint of steel would brush over Altaïr’s spine. “Trust me, this will be quite enjoyable.” He pulled the sharp blade up so it sliced through the fabric at Altaïr’s back.

A strangled hiss escaped Altaïr's control entirely as Malik deftly maneuvered the rope around his other hand; it pulled tight, forcing him flush against the hard edge of the wooden trunk, when the man coiled more rope around his thighs and tightened it. Altaïr fought his rising panic, turning awkwardly to shoot the Dai a scowl that wasn't half as threatening as he had intended it. He struggled against the ropes, trying vainly to find a way to loosen the coils from around his limbs.

"This is how you intend to take your... revenge, is it?" he breathed as Malik turned, twisting his head to try and follow the man's movement. This time when the Dai stepped closer again Altaïr felt the familiar, cold kiss of steel against the small of his back and twitched forward to escape the blade. The sound of his robes being torn and sliced under the edge of the knife made him bite back a surprised groan; he felt the rustle of air against the skin of his back and shivered, shaking his head wildly and pressing himself flush against the trunk, its edge digging painfully into his hips.

Panting breathlessly now, he tried--again--to free himself. The trunk shifted under him but all the knots held tight as he heaved, his breathing quickly accelerating out of his control. "Trust you? ... Are you mad? Damn you for this, Malik." But when he did finally manage to catch the Dai's eyes, the strange, unfamiliar light of cold fury and... something else... enflamed him, sending a shiver down his body to pool as heat in his gut.

“You don’t even know the half of what I’m going to do to you, Altaïr,” Malik growled as he deftly sliced the arms of Altaïr’s robes. He set the dagger aside, grabbed the fabric and, with a sharp tug, pulled it from under Altaïr’s chest. “You should trust me,” he said, pressing against Altaïr's back again.    
   
He picked up the dagger again, pressed the tip to Altaïr’s nipple and teased it with faintest of scrapes from the blade. “It’s not like I have ever done anything to hurt you or caused you to be hurt Altaïr,” he murmured as he traced the dusky oval of skin, pressing the blade lightly so not to draw blood.   

He would have Altaïr twitching and writhing and begging for release in more than one way. There was just enough room back behind the counter for what he wanted to do.

The edge of the knife in Malik's hand danced along his skin worryingly as the man continued working it through his robes; the arms of his tunic fell in tatters over Altaïr's shoulders and he managed a hoarse cry of surprise as Malik pulled the cloth out from under him. "I do -not- trust you, Malik. Not like this... I could swear... you imagined me dead and broken at your feet not a moment ago." Altaïr had almost managed to wrestle one knee a few inches from the floor and was struggling to brace it against the trunk to try and pry himself free of it when Malik pressed against him again.

The touch of that blade over his skin, just hard enough to sting, and that slight edge of something dark in Malik's voice raised a startled, strangled moan from him. Altaïr twitched back as far as his bonds would allow and found himself with his back almost melded to Malik's body as he arched, strained hissed breaths falling from his lips.

Torn between pulling away and actually -pressing closer-, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to clear his mind; but it had been months since he'd allowed himself the luxury of any sort of contact with another. He knew this was dangerous, had recognized that glint in Malik's eyes as something he did -not- want to cross. And he knew it was twisted and probably wrong, yet he could not stop himself from somehow -wanting- this.

"Malik... You... cannot do this," he hissed, struggling to keep his voice from trembling.

“That’s the thing, Altaïr; I am not asking,” he murmured, nipping the shell of Altaïr’s ear sharply. “But I am not going to draw blood with this blade, though the idea has crossed my mind.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the flesh behind Altaïr’s ear before sitting up so his hips where flush to Altaïr’s ass.

He set the knife on the counter and palmed one firm globe of Altaïr’s buttocks before raising his hand and slapping the still clothed flesh sharply. He doubted Altaïr would be able to break loose with any ease; neither the rope nor the trunk would give out under Altaïr’s struggles. He pulled back, jerked Altaïr’s breeches down and, fisting the fabric, he tore them off of him with a grunt.

Dropping the cloth he stood and walked into the small storage area and, after a bit of rummaging around for what he wanted, returned with a heavy carter's whip in hand. While flogging novices wasn’t forbidden, most bureau leaders did not believe in it. “I think five stripes for your insubordination, ten for accusing me of not following the creed, five for failure to find Talal’s men, and five more for forgetting your place,” he said idly, stroking the flexible tip of the whip over Altaïr’s ass.

For a few moments Altaïr was completely and utterly unable to move, his body locked tight as Malik kept the knife pressed lightly against his skin and ran his teeth along the shell of his ear. Bound and unable to move freely, he knew he should have balked, should have refused this entirely. Yet every touch raised fire along his skin--he was already excruciatingly hard, his erection an uncomfortable bar of near-throbbing -need- in his breeches as Malik pressed bodily against him.

"You dare not do this; whatever it is you intend, Malik, as soon as I get loose, I swear to you, I will make you regr--Aaah!..." Altaïr's voice dissolved into a wordless yelp as the Dai's hand palmed then slapped firmly against his ass; he collapsed forward against the trunk, rounding a sharp glare on the Dai, his cheeks colouring slightly. "You are -completely- mad if you think I will allow you to treat me this way. I am -not- some nameless whore!" He tugged sharply again at his wrists then froze completely, biting back a sharp groan as his breeches were all but ripped away from him.

Malik disappeared for a moment and Altaïr -tried- to bring his body back under control, taking long, deep breaths, resting his forehead against the trunk. This little respite didn't last long, and he arched up and twisted to stare open-mouthed as the Dai approached him again, his eyes wide and fixed firmly on the whip curled in Malik's hand. The very tip of the whip teased across the bare skin of his rump; for one completely mad second Altaïr actually considered willingly letting the man flog him, the faint touch nearly maddening to his over-excited senses.

"No..." He shook his head, eyes still stubbornly glued to the whip. "No... You can damn well choke on this whip of yours, -brother-. I will not submit myself to this," he finally snarled, tearing his gaze away to glare up at Malik.

“You forget you are a –novice- Altaïr.” Malik purred, stepping back. “You know it’s perfectly allowable for a bureau leader to flog a novice that misbehaves.” He set the whip a side and shrugged out of his over robes. After a moment of thought he undid his belt and sash, setting both aside as well.   

He stood back and looked down at him. “And you’re not some nameless whore Altaïr, for all that you behave like some heathen off the streets.” He frowned slightly, watching Altaïr struggle against the rope binding him.

He was torn between arousal and wanting to do Altaïr serious damage. He throttled down his temper and picked up the whip again. “I want you to keep count of each stripe. Each one you miss will not count towards the full twenty five.”

Altaïr kept his glare firmly fixed on Malik's face as the man spoke, then disrobed slowly. "I am a novice in name only, as well you know," he sneered, trying--and failing--to keep his voice steady. The sight of the Dai standing dark and almost menacing was too much to bear and he finally turned his eyes away, glaring at the floor at his side angrily.

He scoffed at the man, sending him a reproachful look, the corners of his scarred lips twitching slightly in a mocking sneer. He knew--Christ, he knew it as well as his own name, felt it churning in his gut--that it was terribly unwise to goad the Dai further; but he could not allow himself to willingly agree to this humiliation. Still trying to ignore the completely irrational lust that was coursing through him, Altaïr managed a tense, uncomfortable shrug.

"Go on, then; I have been whipped before." Not like this, his mind provided, not bound and helpless and aroused beyond measure. "You think this will break me? Teach me something I have not... already learned?" His breathing hitched again as he turned away, his heart playing a mad rhythm in his chest. "You will get... nothing more than a count for each of those strikes out of me."

Malik smirked slightly looking down at Altaïr as the man looked away from him. “I have no doubt this will not break you, Altaïr. I would not want to see you broken. I would see you humbled and changed into the man I know you are, not this prideful thing you have become. But not broken,” he murmured, his hand tensing on the grip of the whip.   

“For this… just admitting what you want will be enough.” He drew the whip back and let the first stroke fly with snap. He’d aimed the lash over Altaïr’s shoulder blades and hadn’t put all of the force into it he could have; he didn’t want to truly hurt the man. He would have Altaïr struggling and begging for what he clearly desired; he could see Altaïr’s need from where he stood.

Shaking his head, Altaïr managed through sheer force of will not to bark back an answer; if Malik had thought -he- had betrayed trust, by having committed a mistake he was already paying for in full, then surely the man knew this was beyond unbearable, beyond, certainly, what he had thought Malik capable of.

He heard the shifting of cloth behind him and gritted his teeth, his back and shoulders tensing instinctively; the first strike lashed out against the skin of his right shoulder blade, lancing a sharp line of pain across his nerves that forced him forward against the trunk. A strangled, hissed breath escaped from between his teeth and he struggled, eyes screwed firmly shut, not to groan.

This was complete madness; he had endured lashings before, many, many years ago and they been nothing like this. Somehow the sharp sting of the whip as it cracked against his skin went straight to his cock and he struggled not to shake, struggled not to arch against the strike.

After a few breathless, mad seconds, Altaïr wrestled himself awkwardly upwards off the trunk again, opening bleary eyes to stare blindly at the wood of the trunk, his breaths little more than short, excited pants. "... One," he hissed, twisting slightly to shoot Malik a weak glare over his shoulder.

Malik nodded shortly and drew back for another stroke. This one crossed the horizontal and quickly rising angry red line from the first strike. He knew it would take more than one stroke to make Altaïr give in and speak. It’d take several to wear down his pride.

 He watched as Altaïr’s muscles shifted and flexed under his skin in reaction to the blows. Even Altaïr’s unconscious movements where lovely to watch, the play of those strong muscles under golden skin... He’d missed the sight of it. He had always enjoyed watching Altaïr, and the bastard had known it before Solomon’s Temple. No doubt he would at some point remember that little fact.

The second strike hit just over the very core of the bloom of pain that was centered on Altaïr's shoulder; he allowed himself a whole flurry of choice silent expletives, mentally cursing Malik his unerring aim. Again, the sharp sting of the whip seemed to leech fire into his skin in a long, hot line. This time, at least, he had been expecting it and managed to remain more or less upright off the trunk, supporting himself on shaky thighs.

His shoulder throbbed fiercely, both lashes intermingling to form a massive, burning flare on his skin; he wasn't certain if Malik had bled him, wasn't certain he wanted to know just yet. Still gritting his teeth, his head swimming strangely, Altaïr slowly nodded his head, eyes wide and unseeing. "T-two," he breathed, his voice sounding choked and strange to his own ears.

He forced himself to remain upright, fighting a faint tremor that seemed to want to shake its way up from his legs to the rest of him. Altaïr could not, this time, turn and meet Malik's eyes; but he had sworn he would remain silent and so he gritted his teeth and shook, torn between his body's reaction to flee, to avoid the pain and an incomprehensible -need- for something more than this.

Malik lowered the whip for a moment to make sure he had not in fact drawn blood. He hadn’t, which was exactly the way he wanted it to be. “I can’t hear you, Altaïr,” he growled, whipping Altaïr for the third time, aiming the third strike next to the second.   

Stubborn proud fool, Malik thought as he looked down at Altaïr, he’s shaking with want and won’t admit it. He rolled the whip in his hand and waited for Altaïr’s reply.

It was hard to fight the urge to lay into Altaïr without mercy, to have him begging for him to stop. He ground his teeth and looked away from Altaïr for a moment to reign in his temper. Exhaling slowly, he looked back at Altaïr.

There was a brief pause for a few moments and Altaïr didn't stop to wonder why; he could hardly even think to breathe, resting against the wooden trunk with his legs shaking underneath him, trying to still his hips from twitching forwards once more.

Malik's growled order drifted down to him like so much liquid fire; he hissed, a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, the low, commanding growl almost wringing a desperate moan out of him. When the whip lashed across his skin again it was devastating; the sharp sting throbbed down his spine, curling as heat and need in his belly.

Altaïr went rigid, arching awkwardly off the trunk, his limbs straining tight against the ropes as a strangled, broken howl ripped from his throat. "Aaaah, God... Three! ... T-three," he repeated, panting helplessly, hands itching to reach down and stroke his aching flesh. Twenty-two lashes left, and Altaïr -knew- he would never last, would never be able to endure that much more of this.

"Malik... Christ... Stop this..." he managed between heaving breaths, tugging helplessly against the ropes at his wrists, bowing his head away from the Dai to hide the furious flush he knew was blooming over his face.

Malik let fly a fourth lash without mercy. “Why?” he asked, struggling to maintain an icy tone to his voice. The desperation in Altaïr’s tone was far more arousing than it should have been. The man was twitching and jerking against the trunk and Malik found himself wanting to see Altaïr writhe in earnest.

He wanted to kneel down and lap at each of the lash marks and see how much more he could make Altaïr writhe and moan. Maybe lick other places as well; he’d always loved the way Altaïr’s skin had tasted and had the strangest urge to see if his memory was correct. He had no doubt taking Altaïr would be worth whatever revenge Altaïr came up with.

And he knew that Altaïr would make some sort of attempt at revenge; he somewhat looked forward to the attempt as well. He missed Altaïr in more ways than one.

The fourth strike caught Altaïr somewhat by surprise; he was still arched rigidly away from the trunk and Malik gave him no time at all to recuperate, to try and catch his breath. The whip lashed out against his skin, precise and controlled, in a bright burst of pain sharper than all the others and -over the same spot-, landing in a long, straight flare directly over his already burning shoulder blade.

Altaïr collapsed back against the trunk with a ragged, strangled groan, his--by now aching--erection caught uncomfortably between his body and the unyielding wood. But there was pressure, at least, and though it was completely mad and shameful he couldn't, this time, stop himself from bucking forward, his movement limited almost immediately by the ropes coiled around his thighs.

He realized he was languidly rutting against the trunk only when a sharp jab of his hips brought forth a strangled whine from his lips; Altaïr blinked hazily, realized with a startled hiss what a ridiculous, needy sight he must have been and managed, with some difficulty, to draw himself up slowly away from the trunk. He was panting rapidly, unable to slow his breathing and quite unable to stop the trembling of his limbs.

"M-malik, please... I can... take no more of this..." he breathed with a strangled sob, tugging half-heartedly against the rope at his wrists, arching his shoulders back and moaning breathlessly as the movement sent a sharp flare of pain down his back. "No more, -please-... You... I need you, Malik... Do something!"

Malik took a step closer and looked down at him. “What do you want me to do, Altaïr?” he asked, coiling the short whip up and trailing the stiff lower portion of the whip along the back of Altaïr’s thighs. “You need me, hmm?”  

He smirked slightly and watched Altaïr’s body writhing against the rope. He bent down carefully behind the man, gripped one of Altaïr’s buttocks, parted them and leaned forward to lick slowly over Altaïr’s entrance then blow over the tight ring of muscle. A sudden idea hit him and he smirked slightly and rested his cheek against Altaïr’s rump.

Altaïr shook his head as Malik approached him, twisting awkwardly to at least try and keep an eye on the man; he struggled for a moment to formulate an answer, his lips forming around the words, only to choke back a startled groan at the faint brush of the whip against his thighs.

He tried to pull himself further away from the chest in front of him, desperate for contact and more than past the point of caring if the Dai openly mocked his eagerness. "I have... already asked...," he nearly growled, pulling harshly with one bound wrist to try vainly again to free himself. "What more do you want from--" His sentence hung unfinished in the air between them, Altaïr bowing rigidly back against the trunk as Malik's hand trailed down to grip his ass firmly.

Groaning, almost relieved, he slumped against the trunk only to jolt back up with a choked sob, eyes falling closed as he arched back on trembling thighs. He had been expecting the rough thrust of fingers; nothing could have prepared him for the hot, wet stroke of Malik's tongue against his entrance. It sent a fiery bolt of pleasure running up his spine and Altaïr couldn't force down the needy whine that rose out of him when the contact ended and Malik pulled away.

Breathless, barely able to remember his own name, Malik's name spilling mangled and distorted from his lips, he could only struggle weakly against his bounds as the stillness dragged on. "Aah, please... Please, Malik," he muttered, voice little more than a breathless whisper, nearly choking himself on the words. "S-stop this torture... I want you... to feel you..."

Malik chuckled softly and leaned forward, lapping his tongue over Altaïr’s entrance again. He gripped the flesh under his hand firmly as he probed his tongue deeper into Altaïr. He groaned softly, savouring the fact he had Altaïr moaning and pleading under him.  

He pulled back and reached up to fumble around on the shelf were he kept the first aid supplies, coming back with the jar of muscle salve he used for muscle aches. It created a pleasant tingling sensation on aching muscles.

He opened the lid and scooped out a finger’s worth to work over the tight ring of muscle. He expected the salve would cause an interesting sensation to say the least.

Another ragged moan tore from Altaïr's throat and he all but crumpled back heavily onto the wood of the chest he was tied to, struggling not to buck back against Malik's tongue. This was madness, beyond anything he had ever allowed another to do; it should have been unthinkable, he should have twitched away and demanded to be freed.

He could do none of those things, completely lost in the feeling of the Dai's tongue pressing -into- him as he arched rigidly against his bonds, shoulders and arms tensing and pulling at the ropes with every stroke of Malik's tongue. He could not contain the desperate, keening whine that accompanied the loss as the man released him and drew back.

Altaïr released a strangled, heated curse, turning to watch Malik as he reached for a vial of salve, his gaze hazy and unfocused. He couldn't remember a time when he had wanted, needed, release quite so badly; his ignored length was pressed swollen and painful against the unyielding wood of the trunk and Altaïr had to fight not to buck back immediately against Malik's finger as the man brushed a slicked digit over his entrance.

He bowed forward again, thunked his head heavily against the wood of the chest then arched back up with a low, strangled groan, unable to remain still. "Damn.. this... all, Malik... Must you make me ask... for everything?" The salve seemed to further warm his already heated skin, a maddeningly teasing tingle ghosting over his flesh after every brush of Malik's finger.

Malik pressed the digit into Altaïr, working it slowly in and out of him. “Perhaps I do,” he murmured, adding a second digit in and hooking them sharply, hoping to stroke them over Altaïr’s prostate. “I like hearing your voice hoarse with need like this.”   

“I want to hear you beg for me,” he purred nipping at Altaïr’s flank. “Unless you would rather go back to counting.” He thrust his fingers roughly into Altaïr again.

His eyes fell on the whip and he smirked slowly. Carefully he pulled his fingers away from Altaïr, dipped them into the salve again and quickly spread it over the handle then pressed it against Altaïr’s entrance. He moved it in slow circles against the tight pucker before pressing it in.

Altaïr twitched back against Malik's finger as far as the rope would allow, trembling slightly and releasing a low groan of need. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself this, bowing for another, for Malik? He couldn't remember right now, could hardly think straight, but it had been months if not years ago, back when they both had been novices, certainly before he had ruined what they'd had with his actions at Solomon's temple.

The intrusion stung as Malik pressed another finger into him and he would have hissed if he hadn't been too drunk on lust and pain to register this faint burn. A sharp bite against his side had him jumping slightly; he twisted, sending the Dai a disbelieving look, his cheeks flushed. "You... I will not beg, Malik... You know I will never beg... Not for anyone, and certainly not like--Nnnh..." His voice broke as Malik's fingers curled and -pressed- into him, a sharp burst of pleasure nearly blinding him; his body tightened rigidly, straining hard against the ropes, the heavy wooden trunk sliding a few inches back with him as he arched against Malik.

When he could breathe again, the echoes of a strangled howl dying in his ears, he finally registered the insistent press of something -bigger- against him and moaned--it could only be the whip, Malik couldn't have had time to disrobe--shaking his head wildly and tugging restlessly at the ropes.

"No more... no more counting, please..." he managed, struggling to catch his breath, his voice no more than a strangled whine.”Malik... God, again... Please... I want... more than this." Altaïr tugged desperately against the ropes looped around one of his wrists, trying vainly to reach his own throbbing flesh before finally snarling and bucking backwards, trying to impale himself fully on the leather-tipped handle of the whip, the wooden chest jumping slightly again as he pulled back.

Malik thrust the handle the rest of the way into him with a soft chuckle at Altaïr’s struggles. “More?” he purred, leaning over him and thrusting the handle in and out of him slowly. “More –what-?” he asked, nipping where two of the lash marks met.   

He adjusted the angle of the thrusts to aim for the spot he knew would have Altaïr struggling again. He bit his lip to try and ignore his own aching need; he wanted to pound into him until he couldn’t speak, but he also wanted to hear Altaïr ask for it. To hear it from his lips that he wanted Malik to slam into him without mercy… would be worth the wait.

Altaïr groaned as Malik pressed the handle of the whip into him, biting at his scarred lower lip to try to silence his moans, his hips twitching back with every slow glide. He was trembling, he knew, was probably a completely incongruous sight, bent over this damnable chest and helplessly rutting back against, of all things, the handle of a whip he hadn't even known Malik possessed.

It was hard, unyielding and cold, but Malik twisted it against him, brushing it lightly against his prostate with every slow thrust; Altaïr groaned, arching back, struggling with his bonds even as pain shot up his arms from the ropes twisting and digging into his wrists. This time Malik did not ease up, teasing him mercilessly with every slow twist of the whip's handle into him.

"Christ, yes... -More- than..." he started, hissing sharply at the bite to his shoulder; that faint twitch of pain was almost lost against the rest of it, flaring briefly and disappearing again. "M-more than this..." He was shaking, bucking back shamelessly against every thrust of the handle into him, shoulders and arms tensing furiously as he tried to impale himself deeper.

"Please, Malik... I swear I will... never question you again... Please... I want you within me..." he babbled, screwing his eyes shut. "Please... just touch me... Take me, please, Malik!" His voice rose in a desperate whine, breaking on the syllables of the Dai's name as he bucked sharply backwards again.

“Gods…” Malik gasped as Altaïr’s voice broke, his own hips jerking sharply at the sound. He gave one last thrust with the whip handle, twisting it once more before removing it slowly. “I can hardly… deny such a request.”

  He dropped the whip to the side and pulled his robes off, tossing them aside. He tugged his pants down and stroked his own member a few times with a soft groan as he watched Altaïr twitch as he bent over the trunk. He scooped out another measure of the salve and stroked it over his member. The tingling made him moan lowly.

He shuffled closer and rubbed the head of his member over Altaïr’s twitching pucker before pressing in and gripping Altaïr’s hip firmly as he slid in with a low groan. Once his hips where flush with Altaïr’s buttocks he slid his hand around to free Altaïr’s trapped member and spread the remaining salve on his hand over it.

A strangled, breathless whine wormed its way shamefully out of Altaïr's throat and he waited, trembling and hissing as the whip was slowly drawn out of him, until he could feel warmth at his back. He only just managed not to thrust back against Malik as the man pressed closer, stifling another moan when he felt the tip of Malik's cock brushing against him.

It was nearly impossible not to buck back eagerly and Altaïr's thighs shook as he tried to still his hips, tried to at least retain this small measure of whatever was left of his pride. Thankfully, Malik didn't torture him for very long; as soon as the Dai breached him he released a helpless, strangled hiss, arching up as far as the ropes would allow, pressing his back and throbbing shoulders against the heat of Malik's chest. "Nnnh, hell... Hell, Malik..."

Malik's salve-slicked fingers finally, blissfully, curling around his neglected flesh forced a broken, sobbing moan from his throat. Altaïr twitched forward, sliding against the Dai's hand and flesh, baring his teeth as he arched rigidly, a tight knot of pleasure curling at the base of his spine. He couldn't wait, couldn't, now, let Malik dictate this rhythm; his body was thrumming, the pain and gut-wrenching pleasure almost too much to bear.

Panting furiously, his arms twitching against the bindings, Altaïr slowly slid backwards, his breath leaving him in a strangled gasp as his length slid in Malik's hand, and sank back against the Dai's flesh. He managed a low, mangled curse through gritted teeth, moving back as far as he could until he was pressed against Malik again.

"Aaah, God... Move... Move, damn you, please!"

Malik took a moment to breathe before pulling out all the way and thrusting back in roughly. He gripped the base of Altaïr’s prick firmly and set up a brutal rhythm, slamming into him roughly. “Gods… so good….” he gasped out, hand starting to move over Altaïr’s member roughly in time with each stroke.   

He found himself bent over Altaïr as he thrust into him roughly. He pressed his chest to Altaïr’s back without any thought about the lash marks there as he moved. “F-fuck….I….missed this….why do you have to be…. such a… bastard?” he asked with a growl as he slammed into Altaïr and bit down on his shoulder blade.

For a few mad seconds, Altaïr wasn't certain whether Malik would deny him even this; with the man buried nearly to the hilt within him, he could hardly think, could hardly draw breath enough to speak. When Malik finally moved, sliding out of him only to roughly slam back into him with a throaty groan, Altaïr could only jerk mindlessly against his bonds, a low, strangled whine forcing its way past his lips.

He tried, so very hard, to pull himself free, to reach back and -touch- the man; this was unbearable, to be restrained and unable to feel skin under his fingers. Malik arched against him and pressed close, drawing a startled hiss from him as the sweat and pressure stung fiercely, the skin of his abused shoulder feeling like it would burst into flames.

Altaïr thrust back as much as he could, striving desperately to match Malik's wild rhythm, every twitch and jab of the Dai's hips sending fire racing up his spine. "Nnnngh, God, Malik... -Harder-, please..." he breathed helplessly, bucking into Malik's hand, striving desperately to ease the throbbing, teasing want pooling in his gut. A harsh bite and the sharp, blinding sting of teeth against his wounded flesh sent him reeling, hips thrusting wildly back against Malik as a ragged moan tore from his throat.

Malik growled softly and slammed into Altaïr harder as he requested. He released his grip on Altaïr’s member to fumble with the knot in the ropes for a moment, cursing it before getting it un-tied. Still cursing the rope, he untwisted it from around Altaïr’s wrists. Once Altaïr’s hands were freed, he pulled completely out and roughly rolled Altaïr off the trunk.  
   
Gripping Altaïr’s hip roughly, he slammed back into the man and picked up the pace again. He groaned throatily and buried his face in Altaïr's neck, his hand still clutching his hip as he moved.

“Fucking….god…Altaïr…” he gasped out as he pounded into the man. “I want…to hear you….scream for this….” He bit Altaïr’s shoulder again and changed the angle of his thrusts so he was hopefully hitting that spot inside Altaïr with every one of them.

Too preoccupied with the intense, shattering feeling of the Dai's cock ramming into him, Altaïr barely had enough presence of mind to notice that Malik was fumbling with the ropes. He was bucking back against the man desperately, seeking both friction and that tight, rolling pressure that came with every jab of Malik's hips. The sudden loss of contact and pleasure as the Dai slid out of him forced a throaty whine out of him.

He had no time to turn and demand, beg, for more; Malik's hand dropped onto his shoulder and pulled and Altaïr stumbled away from the trunk, the ropes sliding from around his wrists and out of the leather handles of the chest. He collapsed onto his back, Malik following him down almost immediately to push back into him. "Nnnnh, Christ... M-malik... I cannot..." His voice broke as Malik's sharp thrusts forced him to slide against the rough tiles. Breathing wildly in short, hissed pants, the pleasure curling low in his belly mingling dizzyingly with the harsh rasps of pain as his shoulder grated across the tiles, Altaïr could only reach up and dig his short nails against Malik's still-clothed shoulders.

He had only to reach down--burned for it, needed that sharp curl of pleasure to rise and crest like he needed air to breathe--and curl his fingers over his own aching flesh. But he could not, knew Malik would not allow this even without being told. Gritting his teeth, arching against the man and bucking back onto him with every thrust, Altaïr threw his head back, a low, growling moan rising out of him until he was practically howling.

"Please, Dai... Malik, please... God..." His voice was little more than strangled gasps, fingers twitching against Malik's shoulders; he was so close, had never wanted release more, could barely think past the need to crest over this maddening edge. "I swear... I... will do... anything you ask of me... Only... Please... Help me... Release me!"

Malik bowed his head and bit a path along Altaïr’s neck as he pounded into him. Altaïr clawing at his shoulders and writhing under him was amazing, he’d thought it was something he’d never get to experience again. He groaned lowly and thrust into Altaïr harder.

At Altaïr’s pleading words he reached been them and gripped Altaïr’s member firmly. Stroking over it again he nipped Altaïr’s ear lobe. “Then…..come for me Altaïr…..” he growled, giving the base of Altaïr’s swollen member a squeeze and thrusting sharply into him. “Let me….let me see you lose yourself.”

He was teetering on the edge of release himself but stubbornly refused to let go until he got Altaïr to the same point. He wanted to see his face twisted in pleasure as he lost himself.

A strangled moan fell from Altaïr's lips as Malik finally wrapped his hand around his length; he bucked sharply upwards, arching nearly off the tiles under him, lips parted in a silent scream. The harsh stone at his back grated viciously against his abused shoulder but he hardly noticed its sharp sting.

Thrusting wildly into Malik's hand, he finally felt that edge break, the Dai's last, harsh thrust into him sending careening through his climax. He rode it arched and tense around Malik's flesh, bucking thrice more against the man, a ragged, breathless groan tearing from his throat as he splattered his seed in thick ropes over the Dai's fingers and robes.

Breathless and dazed, panting rapidly, Altaïr finally collapsed back onto the tiled floor, hips still twitching weakly. He blinked, tried to speak, only managed a throaty moan and closed his eyes, digging his fingers into Malik's shoulders while he tried vainly to catch his breath.

Malik howled and bucked into Altaïr as he clenched around him. He thrust into in Altaïr a few more times as he came. He panted harshly and rolled his hips a couple more times, milking his release. “Gods….Altaïr…” he groaned.

He rested his head on Altaïr’s shoulder and tried not to collapse on top of the man under him. He released Altaïr’s member and weakly tugged his robes off. Sighing, he wiped Altaïr’s chest off and carefully pulled out of him.

He wadded the robes up and tossed them aside. He closed his eyes and debated on rolling Altaïr over and checking the lash marks and tending to them.

Stifling a short hiss as Malik pulled away--he missed the contact immediately, and he dazedly realized he hadn't felt this, this longing, in months--, Altaïr slowly let his hands drop back down, his chest still heaving rapidly. After a few moments while the man removed his soiled robes, he reached up again and firmly wrapped a hand over the back of Malik's neck.

"I... truly am sorry, Malik. And... thank you," he muttered, turning his eyes away and staring hazily at the wrapped flesh of Malik's arm, sighing angrily. He debated, for a few seconds, explaining himself, offering his life for what he had taken, what he had cost the man and, perhaps, almost lost them both. "I thought... For a moment, I thought you were going... to flay me alive, Dai."

Altaïr let his head thunk back heavily against the tiled floor, arms and legs numb and cramped, his shoulder a burning flare of pain. "This... was... better than flaying," he managed, essaying a faint grin up at the man, his fingers curling over the back of Malik's neck uncertainly.

The exhaustion of his earlier attempts at catching Talal's men and everything that had happened afterwards finally catching up with him, he tugged himself up off the ground slowly, sliding his hand down to Malik's shoulder for support. Sitting up with a pained grunt, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Malik's chest.

"I came here... to rest, Dai," he muttered against dark skin, blissfully relishing the closeness, uncaring if Malik pushed him away at this point. "I still intend to, if you will... let me."

Malik sighed and found himself smiling slightly. “You’re… forgiven for this at least, Altaïr,” he murmured. "And you’re welcome.” He found himself nuzzling Altaïr’s hair, feeling more affection than anger at the man for a change.

“We…should move to the courtyard and get cleaned up,” he said with a sleepy chuckle. “Then curl up out there and….rest.” The shared closeness with Altaïr felt amazing. He’d missed the contact; it made him think of a time when they were both different men.

He pulled away reluctantly and stood up. “Come, it will be more comfortable out there,” he added, offering Altaïr a hand up. The other man’s golden skin was littered with faint bruises and scratches from being bent over the trunk.

Nodding against Malik's chest, Altaïr couldn't quite force words past his throat; he hadn't expected, coming back to Masyaf all those weeks ago, to find Malik alive. The shock of seeing him so wounded had hurt, had drawn hot fire over a wound freshly made. And then shortly after that, making his way down here to Jerusalem to find the man again, bitter and angry and... changed... had been another debilitating blow.

He knew nothing was repaired--a few lashes of a whip and some bruising of his skin and pride couldn't make up for anything--but at least it seemed, now, that the road back to where he had been wasn't quite so impossible to travel. "I... will sleep like the dead, I think," he mumbled as Malik pulled away, casting his eyes up to glance at the man. The Dai's hand reached out towards him and he blinked numbly a few times before stretching out the arm that wasn't, at the moment, a burning mass of pain, curling his fingers with Malik's and slowly getting to his feet.

-Everything- hurt; his legs were shaky and still tense, his entire back felt like it was on fire and the rest of him positively ached. Malik had been nowhere near gentle, and it had been so long since the last time he'd let the man take him, he could barely even remember it. His eyes fell on the trunk as he stepped around the counter and he fought a faint blush, quickly shaking his head and turning back towards the Dai.

"Please... never tell me what was in that trunk, Malik."

Malik chuckled lowly and lead the way into the courtyard, keeping a hold of Altaïr’s hand. “I think you would like what’s in the trunk, Altaïr,” he teased, leaning in to brush his lips against Altaïr’s. “But that’s for another time.”

He’d missed the quiet and agreeable Altaïr. He'd just missed Altaïr in general, the Altaïr that was a reasonable and decent man. The man he had thought was lost after what had happened in Solomon’s temple. He gave Altaïr’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“On second thought… Sleep sounds better than getting cleaned up… Let's nap first them… wash,” he murmured, urging Altaïr towards the pillows.

Following the Dai numbly out into the courtyard, Altaïr shook his head again and managed a low, tense chuckle. "I am almost certain I would not," he answered against Malik's lips as the man closed the distance between them. He released a long, relieved sigh, glancing down at the Dai's hand; closer, yes, but still so very far out of his true reach.

He knew he had many amends to make, a long road yet to travel and Al Mualim's list of names to struggle through; now though, at last, he knew he might be allowed back here, might be tolerated here in Jerusalem, if nowhere else. The other bureaus hardly mattered, Masyaf hardly mattered, if he had this oasis to come back to, if he could find his way here again and find a hint of what he'd had before.

Making his way towards the pillows and rugs that littered the floor of the courtyard, Altaïr gingerly sank down, tugging at Malik's hand and sending him a hopeful look. "Stay?" he asked, settling himself further against the pillows, pulling gently against the Dai's hand, not quite willing to see the man leave just yet.

Malik looked down at Altaïr, then at their hands, and slowly twined his fingers with Altaïr's. “For….a little while,” he murmured, lowering himself down next to Altaïr. He shifted closer to Altaïr but did not let go of his hand.

He wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay between them. That he hadn’t wanted to flay Altaïr alive. He curled up against Altaïr’s side and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He could pretend just as long as it took Altaïr to turn back into an asshole.

He brought Altaïr’s hand up and pressed his lips to the back of it. Sometimes he imagined Kadar telling him not to hold a grudge against Altaïr, to forgive him, that he’d meant well. That he would change. Malik would believe it when he saw it.


End file.
